“To his grandchildren, he was Grandpa Baseball,” his stepdaughter said in January during a correctly titled celebration of his life shortly after his death at the age of 86.

He first came on the scene in our corner of the country as a trusted coach of the Dodgers during the Walter Alston era.

The native of Havana, who at the age of 21 played shortstop for the old Washington Senators, remained near the water as a Santa Monica resident before finally giving in to freeway traffic and moving to Orange County.

He would manage the Padres, Astros and Cubs.

He worked for the Angels from 1981 on as a coach and then special assistant to the general manager.

Special indeed. He was the man a series of general managers and for the past nine years Mike Scioscia, their manager, turned to because of the high regard they had for his wisdom.

The Angels are honoring him by wearing a patch on their uniforms in the shape of a diamond with “Preston” across it.

“People look at his record and say, `What did he do?”‘ Sparky Anderson said.

The wins did not come rolling in for a simple reason. The scouts stopped counting long before five when they evaluated the tools of the majority of the players he managed.

What impressed Hall of Fame manager Anderson?

“Preston taught people how to be professionals,” he said.

Rod Carew, a Hall of Fame player who was with the Angels for 16 years as a player and coach, is another who was impressed.

“There have been three great people in this organization,” he said.

He named Gene Autry, the original owner of the Angels, Jimmy Reese, the longtime coach who grew up in San Pedro, and Gomez.

It seemed appropriate, as the season started, to write about the void Gomez left in the organization, about how the Angels are flying an empty-man formation without him in the background.

It seemed appropriate to write about how he could have been lifted from the pages of a Hemingway novel. He was a wise, gentle, caring grandfather who could be a tough disciplinarian, telling young players, especially the Hispanic players, things they needed to know about the manner in which they conducted themselves.

And about how he would patiently guide a reporter to a point where he had at least a basic understanding of what was going on between the lines and even in the clubhouse.

Grandpa Baseball had a tough side. He would say it was a practical side.

Twice when he was managing, once with the Padres with Clay Kirby and then with the Astros with Don Wilson, he pulled his starting pitcher after eight innings when the starter was throwing a no-hitter.

Each time his team was losing. He was playing the game to win.

Gomez would come to the park early. He and Scioscia would meet, at Scioscia’s invitation, to talk baseball.

He would talk baseball all day and deep into the night. He also talked about boxing. He loved boxing along with baseball. Or with a little urging he would talk about baseball in his native Cuba. The pain caused by Fidel Castro preventing players for so many years from leaving the island was evident.

When the players took the field to prepare for the game, he would retire to a seat at one end of the press box to watch. To absorb. To learn a little more about the Angels.

If a reporter approached with questions, he would have answers. They would be clear and concise. He would provide an honest view of the game.

You would assume the void Gomez left was evident during the spring.

Scioscia said otherwise.

The Angels felt Gomez during their meetings.

“We would hear him saying things,” Scioscia said.

They also felt him on the field.

“We would glance up and see Preston sitting there wearing his Panama hat,” he said.

This sounds like “Field of Dreams.”

Gomez provided a young manager with validation.

“There was a lot we both learned from our roots,” Scioscia said. “Preston was one of the guys who pushed the Dodger philosophy of how to play the game. It fit right in with what we like to do here.”

However.

“At times there were things Preston didn’t agree with,” he admitted. “But he understood. He supported us.”

Scioscia chuckled at the memory.

“We had some real spirited baseball conversations in the baseball room,” he said. “What Preston said carried a lot of weight. He wasn’t afraid to give his opinions. It was a gift for all of us.”

Pardon a slight rewrite here. Preston Gomez was a gift for all of us who had the privilege of knowing him.